


Perhaps A Year Is All I Need

by Twentyonellamas



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-17 23:44:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13087941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twentyonellamas/pseuds/Twentyonellamas
Summary: What do you do when you are paired with the person you detest the most? Beatrice is a History major at Oxford University. She is a straight A student, but she cannot help but hate Ivar’s very existence. Fate likes to play tricks, neither of them have anything to lose if they choose to gamble. Or do they?( I am bad at these, so I am sorry)





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language (it’s my third). This is my second fanfic that I will be writing for pure enjoyment, really. I love writing in Modern AUs. I am also not sure if I have correctly described the blood eagle, so apologize if it is incorrect. If people like it, I shall post part two. Otherwise, enjoy! I am extremely excited for this one

Everyone knew Ivar Lothbrok. If you did not, you lived under a rock or, perhaps, you simply did not care. However, even those who claim not to ‘care’ about Ivar were lying to both themselves and others. Oxford University was one of the most prestigious universities on the English soil. Its rich history along with a stunning location and high and well-kept reputation was what attracted thousands, if not millions, of applicants a year. Only the best of the very best got a shot at walking along the halls and sitting in classrooms where wisdom was gathered in an eager mind like a pirate gathered his jewels into a treasure chest to take away with him for as long as time would allow.

I come from a family of dropouts. My father, a local mechanic who struggled to keep his lips dry from the balm that was his evening bottle of whiskey, left school at only fifteen years of age. The reasons were unknown to me, though my best guess is his father forcing him to work as times were tougher and the need for money outweighed the need for education. My mother, however, loved being a housewife and saw no need for any sort of higher education, unless one wanted it. Her love was raising my three brothers and I, amongst getting involved with various kinds of charities and hobbies she has picked up along the way. Though her and I disagreed on one too many things, I could only hope to be half the person she is.

I was always curious. My cravings to know more were never fully satisfied. I read books and swallowed the knowledge in them in days or hours, always moving on to the next book as soon as I finished one. I wrote stories, fairy tales in which the princess was equally as strong as the prince, and I dreamed of castles and libraries as big as the universe itself. Needless to say, I worked my butt off to get here, though my thirst for knowledge deemed extremely useful in getting my (mostly) perfect score.

So, back to Ivar, the most notorious arsehole I have encountered in my life. Some men wanted to be him, some would give their own dick to see him eliminated from the ‘playing field’ and wondering eyes of their girlfriends, and some simply admired him. Women threw themselves at his feet, suddenly growing a cup size every time he was near as they pushed their chests out and squeezed their boobs together. Every single time I saw it happen, I was tempted to buy a bottle of bleach and drink it, or grab the nearest silver spoon and scoop my eyes out.

His family is one of the wealthiest families in the UK. His Danish origins and slight accent make him all the more ‘desirable’. When I started my first year, I hated him because I thought he got into Oxford thanks to the wealth and connections his family has obtained through generations. Now, however, I detest him because the guy is actually smart and with or without the connections, he could easily have gotten a place here. The fact that he is disabled, I was sure played into the picture, though yet again, it was not the case and I was wrong.

My hatred of him every single day. It boiled and simmered underneath my skin and fingertips. Every time I saw a girl dressed in hardly anything, dumbing herself down to impress him, I felt like shutting myself in a room and wait for the ultimate thing that awaits us all; death.

“Miss Laurie,” I heard the professor’s voice call my name. “Would you mind telling us what the famous death of a blood eagle, common in the Viking culture, consisted of?”

I cleared my throat. “Yes, certainly,” I said. “The blood eagle was performed by slicing a person’s back open, I am guessing right down the center of the spine. The ribs were then broken and lungs were torn apart. The skin and ribs were spread out to imitate bloody wings. The lungs were draped over the shoulders and the flesh rubbed with salt.”

The professor smiled gently, pushing his glasses up the bridge of the nose. “Well done, Miss Laurie.”

As he continued the lecture of all of the various, and brutal, punishments throughout the history of different time eras and cultures, I felt my gaze drift towards the bottom left side of the room where he was. There was no notebooks, no pen or paper in front of him. Wanker didn’t even bother to bring his supplies, I thought to myself feeling the anger at his arrogance grow even more.

He slouched in his chair, his gaze set on the front of the class, his legs extended out long in front of him. Even with the attention he got, I can count the number of times I heard him speak to anyone, or reciprocate the interest they seemed to have in him, not including the times he got asked to speak in class, never getting a single answer wrong.

“Now, for this semester, there will be a need for you to work in pairs.” The class perked up at this, good friends looking at each other knowingly. Some dreading it already, I included. “Lucky for you, I have already prepared your pairs for you.” The class groaned at this, all the happiness seeping away from them like air from united balloons.

“Trent,” the professor started. “You will be with… Beatrice.” The pair glanced and nodded at each other.

“Lawrence, you are with Tom.”

“Jamie with Lisa”

As the professor continued on, fewer people seemed to be available. I took my bottom lip between my teeth and began to bite it nervously, my anticipation growing.

“Beatrice,” I perked up at the sound of my name. “You will be with.. Ivar.”

My heart stopped and I resisted the urge to groan in protest. In truth, I wanted to do more than groan. I wanted to scream, throw chairs and desks and demand the teacher to tell me that he is joking and he has mixed it all upon. Instead, I glanced towards him, only to find him already staring back at me. I nodded at him, mirroring the actions previously carried out by my classmates but was only met with a stoic, expressionless stare. Great. Just fucking great, I thought to myself.

“Now, before you get your knickers in a twist,” the professor began, “I will have you know that there will be no switches.” I felt the hope take flight and leave my body.” From now on, any assignments will be carried out with your partner. I have specifically taken my time to pick people that you are best suited with; character and abilities, similarities and differences.”

I held back a snort. I loved the professor, but clearing he is deeply mistaken and getting rusty in his old age.

“Now,” he began, glancing at the clock hanging above the door. “I want you all to sit next to the people you are paired with and simply talk and get to know each other. We are already three weeks into the year and half of you don’t even know each other.”

As the class began to shuffle, the sound of desks and chairs being dragged across the floor to fuse together. I sat frozen, as dread began to set itself in my bones. I glanced up to look at Ivar, but yet again I was met with eyes that were already staring at me. His gaze was expectant, as he inched his chin up and shot his eyebrows up to meet his hair. Arrogant prick, I thought to myself before remembering his disability and wanting to punch myself in the face for expecting him to move to me. I may hate the guy, but his disability I do not take lightly.

As I have fully gathered up my stuff, as slowly and as deliberately as I could, I began to walk towards him. I saw him follow my every move as if I now became the subject and he the student. The piercing gaze made my body tense and I almost forgot how to walk, thankfully avoiding tripping down the steps and making a fool out of myself. Not that I cared what he thought. Of course.

As I reached his desk, I suddenly felt awkwardness begin to seep in, though I pushed it out and jutted my chin up, making myself stand tall and proud. I set the bag and went to grab a chair and move a desk next to his (or at least as close as I could without being too close). As I sat down, I breathed in before extending my hand out to shake. “I’m Beatrice,” I said.

He glanced at my hand but made no move reaching his to meet mine. I let my hand drop numbly on top of the desk. I craved to scream out my frustration but thought the best of it. I could tell this will be a fucking joy, already. Let my agony begin.


	2. Attitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First study session and proper interaction between Ivar and Beatrice.

I stared at him just as hard as he stared at me. His piercing blue eyes held me in place turning me into a statue made of stone, and once again I was reminded of my imminent hatred towards the man in front of me. Finally, after a few seconds, he leaned back and sighed loudly. 

“How do you want to do this?” he asked, never dropping his stare from me. 

“Pardon?” My brows furrowing in confusion. “Do what exactly?”

He rolled his eyes and spoke slower, enunciating every word as if I was a child, stupid enough not to understand a simple question. “How and where do you want us to work together?”

“Oh,” I said. “I am free most evenings and the library is open until 7 pm, we could study there?”

He nodded curtly in agreement, his face completely unreadable and void of emotion. “4 pm tomorrow sound good to you?” 

I thought about my schedule, mentally checking and planning. My studying for other classes will be tremendously cut down but I refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much I have to study to keep up with him in every class we shared together. “Yes,” I agreed. 

After that, we have barely uttered a word to each other. I made more than one attempt at small talk but all I got in reply was the shrug of his shoulders or his piercing stare would hold me in place until I would stop talking before he went back to looking like a Greek statue of sorts. 

He was extremely good looking and I could definitely see why he got the attention of everyone. His chestnut hair was shaved at the side and braided meticulously and neatly at the top. I could never braid my own hair to save my life- another reason to hate him, I thought bitterly to myself. His jaw was well defined and his face was covered by a gentle stubble. All in all, he looked like I would imagine a god of sorts would look. 

Needless to say, I felt like a slob next to him, and even that is an understatement. Where he dressed casually, but smartly, I preferred the comfort of my hoodies and loose shirts and yoga pants. My hair was always up in messy buns or unruly ponytails, and the only makeup I wore was a tinge of mascara and lipgloss. He was lean and athletic, his chest well defined but not overly so. I guess it is from having to carry himself around on his crutches everywhere. I, on the other hand, was not the skinniest girl around. My body had bumps and curves, and though sometimes I wished I looked leaner, I had no time to spare to go to a gym and looking good to appease other people felt futile for me. 

I realized I was full on staring at him when the bell rang, startling me out of my daze. Quickly gathering my things and pushing my desk back to its original place, I turned to say goodbye to him but he was already gone. “Wanker,” I muttered to myself before making my way to the next class. 

 

The day went by quickly and before I noticed I was back in my dorm, getting my homework and notes out for the day. I studied them until my eyes were stinging with tiredness and begged me to close them. Stretching out like a cat, I prepared for bed and fell into a deep sleep. 

The morning came way too soon, and I already dreaded the end of the day. Ivar plagued my mind, making me jittery and restless. I thought about what I will do, what the first projects and assignments will feel like when shared between two people, and what will I say to make it more bearable for the both of us- though mostly me- to survive the rest of the year. 

The closer it got to 4 o’clock, the worse I felt. My stomach twisted itself into knots, all pulling themselves in different directions. Going to the bathroom, I splashed myself and gave myself a motivating speech. “I can do it,” I muttered. “It’s just Ivar, the guy I loathe with every atom of my being, he is nothing but a partner that I need to pass.” 

The library wasn’t as busy as it gets closer to the finals. I could see first years, fervently taking notes with towers and walls of books crowding their space. My eyes looked around before they locked in on a table by the window. His crutches were propped up against it, his back to me. My eyes trailed over to a woman who leaned over him, pushing her chest out, a strand of her blonde lock was twirled around her finger. I scoffed. Of course, this would be the case. 

I made my way over, plopping myself in the seat opposite him. I felt the woman’s hard stare zero in on me, and I shrunk back into my seat. 

“Who’re you?” she asked venomously. 

“Beatrice,” I muttered, not looking up. I felt Ivar’s stare on me and I glanced up to meet his stare. 

“Leave,” was all he said, not breaking his stare. For a second I thought he was talking to me and I froze my movements, unsure of what to do, but then the woman scoffed and cursed at him and strutted away, swaying her hips side to side. He didn’t even flinch. 

“You know, you really should be nicer to her,” I said. “Her sharp, fake claws might just do some irretrievable damage to those eyes of yours everyone seems to fall over for.”

For the first time ever, I saw his lips turn up forming a ghost of a smile but he did not reply or say anything for that matter. If he hadn’t spoken those few words to me yesterday, and the one he uttered today, I would’ve wondered if he is even capable of speaking.

I grabbed my laptop out of my bag and booted it up. Whizzing through the emails, I found my professor’s instructions on the project we are meant to be working on first. 

“Did you read his email, yet?” I asked him, eager to get this over with as painlessly and as quickly as I possibly could. 

“Mhm.”

Prick. “Any particular topic piques your interest?”

He shrugged his shoulders and leaned back. I noticed he did not have any supplies once again and I resisted the urge to snap at him for coming completely unprepared. How he passed with flying marks at this rate was beyond me. 

“Right,” I said. “Well, we have to pick something before we get started.”

“Obviously,” he said, smirking. 

I felt my resolve snap. “Look, if you’re going to be an arsehole, then be an arsehole after we are done here but I need the grades and unfortunately I need you to get them and I will NOT put a dent in my perfect score just because of your infuriatingly ridiculous attitude,” I seethed, my simmering anger was now boiling. My face flushed from the outburst. “Now, pick. A. Topic.”

He stared at me for a moment before relaxing completely and leaning his elbows on top of the ebony desk. “Vikings,” he said casually as if outbursts were something he was completely used to and something that seemed to calm him down, even, 

“Vikings it is then.” I breathed out and looked back down at the email. I was relieved he picked the topic I wanted to do most. The history and culture were by far the most fascinating to me and I could read about them for hours out of pure enjoyment. “Thank you,” I added, my anger slowly subsiding. If there is anything he cannot hold over me is my lack of manners. I was raised better than that. 

“So, how about we divide the sections we need to cover between the two of us?” I hoped he would agree. We would barely have to talk to each other, and the workload would be well balanced and covered. I knew he was a good student, our scores were never too different from each other’s and I hoped that when it came to school, I could trust him as much as I trusted myself. 

“Alright,” he said. “Which sections do you want to do?”

“Umm,” I glanced at the four sections we needed to cover. “I would love to cover their belief systems. Other than that, I am good with whatever.”

“Fuck B, I was hoping you wouldn’t pick that one.” I looked up at him, startled, flinching at the swear word but relaxed again when I saw mischief dancing in his sky blue eyes. I smiled at him, despite my brain screaming at me not to. 

“Sorry. As The Rolling Stones song goes… You can’t always get what you want, even if you are the infamous Ivar Lothbrok.” I winked at him, though I berated as soon as I did. Am I flirting with him? Have I gone completely mad? And Rolling Stones? Really? My lack of socializing skills was painfully obvious and I resisted the urge to pack up, leave and never come back.   
He chuckled, breaking my internal panic, and I decided I didn’t mind the sound as much as I would’ve thought. His change in expression made him more human than he usually seemed. His eyes crinkled at the corners and lit up, wiping the storm away from his orbs. “The Rolling Stones wrote a song about me?”

I flushed crimson. “No, I-I meant…” I puffed out the air. “Forget it.”

He laughed at my evident discomfort, this time louder. People around glanced up at us, some shushed and scoffed. “Why on earth would I want to forget finding out that one of the most famous bands wrote a song with my name, hmm?” 

“Arsehole,” I muttered, though I felt my mouth twitch trying to form itself into a smile and he reciprocated. We looked at each other for a few beats of silence before I cleared my throat, focusing on the task at hand. I still hated the guy, but his close presence didn’t bother me as much as I thought it would. 

After we agreed on the sections we would do; him doing strategies in battles, and the advancement of ships and tools and how they were made, and me doing beliefs and punishments, we went our separate ways, not seeing the point of staying longer than necessary. I was thankful to see only an hour and a half has passed and I still had some time to get my homework covered this evening for the next couple of days. 

We agreed to meet here the same time the next day. Even though we were doing different sections, we thought it would be useful to be able to bounce ideas off of each other in case we needed a second opinion. Again, I was glad to see he valued the work and quality of work just as much as I did. 

The next time I saw him he was alone. The library was emptier as it was a Friday night and parties were thrown all around the campus. It was my favourite day purely for that reason, as weird as it sounded. Whilst others drowned in bottles of liquor, I satisfied my brain with knowledge whilst the dorms were quiet. If I was being honest with myself, I was surprised he didn’t ditch me for a party. I was sure there was a million other places he would rather be than research a history project with me as his partner. 

I sat down at the same spot, throwing him a smile when he noticed me. He nodded at me in acknowledgment and proceeded to type things out on his laptop. I saw he brought some books and notebooks this time and felt happy to see him come prepared for once. Every time I saw him in our classes, there was an empty desk in front of him. He never made notes, never had the text book open. His attention was always either at the professor, or he stared straight ahead. I resisted the urge to ask him about it, silencing my curiosity. 

For the first half hour, we barely said anything to each other. Occasionally we would ask if we could proofread what the other wrote, or he would ask me my opinion on if he should mention a certain fact or leave it out. 

“You’re humming,” he said, breaking my focus. 

“Hmm?”

“You’re humming,” he repeated. His voice was a matter of factly, rather than accusatory or holding any kind of annoyance. 

“Oh, sorry,” I said, blushing. “I don’t usually study here, and humming always helped me concentrate.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Where do you usually study, then?”

I shrugged. “In the dorms. My room is quiet and I don’t share my space with anyone.”

“How about we study there next time, hmm?” he asked. 

I was taken aback and for a moment I was too stunned to speak. “Are you inviting yourself into my room, Ivar Lothbrok?” I teased, composing myself. 

To my astonishment, a tinge of pink spread itself across his pale cheeks. “I mean if you would find it more comfortable.”

I thought about it for a moment, weighing my options. On the one hand, I knew the library would get extremely crowded in the next week or two and would only get worse as the year progressed. If there is anything I hated more than I hated Ivar, was crowded and loud spaces when all I craved to do was read and write. To me, people were the thieves of peace and joy. On the other hand, having him so close to me wasn’t a particularly good, or a pleasant thought. He wasn’t as bad as I expected him to be, and in a way, I hated him even more for that but at least in the library, there was a route to escape. My options came down to losing my peace and possibly letting my grades slip or being close to Ivar, which honestly, I was capable of sucking up. 

“Alright,” I finally said. “But you try any funny business, Lothbrok, hanky-panky or other, and I will kick your arse, I swear to God.”

He seemed to visibly relax at my words. He held up his hands in defense and leaned back. “Swear on my life, I will not,” he said, amusement evident in his voice. 

“You better not,” I muttered, mostly to myself though I was sure he heard me. Things were about to get interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I went and posted another chapter again. I want this story to be pretty long, and I have the ending already semi-planned. Again, I apologize for any mistakes, grammar, spelling or tenses. Any feedback is extremely welcome.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!


	3. Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar comes over to Beatrice's dorm room. It seems to be going well until personal feelings get involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 is up! Not much to say for this one, apart from apologizing for any grammar, spelling mistakes. English isn’t my first language so. Also, if I have gotten any history parts wrong, I will correct them and I apologize if I did. Any kind of feedback is not only welcome but super duper encouraged. Hope everyone had wonderful Christmas, too! Enjoy!

The first time Ivar Lothbrok entered my dorm room felt as if I have stepped into the twilight zone. I was worried about getting into trouble for having a guy over but no one dared speak against his wishes or presence; some were too scared and some simply pretended to look the other way instead of facing the trouble that may come with going against him.

He stood there, a white T-shirt clinging closely to his torso. I saw a tattoo peak its head out of the linen and my curiosity peaked, though I quickly pushed it down. He has propped himself up on his crutches, leaning slightly against the door frame, his eyes boring themselves into mine.

I cleared my throat. “Come in.” I gestured for him to take a seat wherever he would like and he began making his way towards the loveseat opposite my bed.

We sat there for a while, the air was charged with awkwardness and a slight tension and I whizzed through my brain looking for anything to start a conversation.

“So,” I began, not being able to take the silence anymore. “Have you made any progress on researching the Battle in Wessex, yet?”

He leaned back into the seat, his stance relaxing slightly as he propped his crutches by his side. He reached out into his backpack and drew out his laptop and notebook, along with some pens and highlighters. “As a matter of fact, I have,” he said, eyes glinting with pride and smugness that I wished I could wipe right off. “Have you made any progress on… “

“Valkyries,” I finished. “And yes, I have.” I turned to my desk, sorting through my notes to dig up a summary. “They’re immensely interesting.”

“Oh?” He cocked his head to the side. His full and complete attention made me slightly fidgety and queasy.

“Yes,” I said.” They are the choosers of the fallen. People called Valkyries the spirit helpers of the god, Odin. They were also only female.” I looked at him and he nodded at me to continue. “They chose who could get admitted to Valhalla, as well as they had the power to choose who could die in battle. Oddly enough, they were also known for using malignant magic to make sure their choices were fulfilled in the end.”

“So they were witches?” he asked, leaning forward slightly. He propped his elbows on his knees and I glanced at the flex of his forearm.

“Not exactly,” I said, looking back up at him again. “Vikings, at least for the most part, were driven by doing things that made them worthy of a place in the Valhalla, that would make the gods proud. Valkyries had many roles and functions. You know of shield-maidens, I’m guessing?” I cocked my eyebrow at him.

He rolled his eyes and let out a small chuckle, a sound I realized I was all too fond of. “Of course, I have.”

I allowed myself to crack a smile. “Well, they could have also been shield-maidens, or swan- maidens.”

“Swan-maidens?” he drew his eyebrows in.

I bobbed my head eagerly. “Yes, because their clothes were made out of swan feathers that people believed allowed them to fly and carry the chosen warriors to the gates of Valhalla.”

He leaned back again, going into deep in thought, his eyebrows drawing in in concentration. I watched him absorb the information, and place it neatly inside of his brain. I grew an inch of respect for the man across from me.

“Do you like writing about them?” he asked after a solid second of his own reflection. During our conversation, he seemed to have shifted towards me and it surprised me that I felt at ease, more comforted by his presence than I would have thought.

“I actually do,” I began. ”The legends, myths, and faith in the gods seemed to influence their way of life and behaviour a whole lot. It’s weird to think that a being, a creature who was probably just a simple human, could determine a Vikings fate with regards to the Valhalla.”

“A creature?” he challenged. “You mean to tell me you don’t believe in the supernatural, B?” There was mirth in his eyes, and they swarmed with a sudden warmth I wasn’t accustomed to. For a second all I could do was admire them. He looked down to his lap, a small smile dancing on his lips.

“You know no one calls me ‘B’, right?”

He shrugged his shoulders before looking up to capture my eyes. “Maybe I’m not everyone,” he mumbled. Although it was difficult to make out what he said, especially with the accent, I heard him loud and clear.

“Maybe you’re not,” I said. “Though, I doubt you’re much different.”

He tensed visibly at my words, his fist clenching slightly. A dark expression loomed across his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded, his voice intimidatingly low.

I bit my lip. Fuck, I shouldn’t have said anything, I should NOT have said anything, I thought and internally cursed myself for opening my mouth. I thought about what to say for a second, weighing my options. “Nothing,” I ended up saying. “Let’s just get back to the task at hand.” I hoped it would be enough to steer us clear off of any kind of thoughts or feelings about anything that was not our history assignment.

“Tell me,” he urged, the dark expression now forming into an abundant rage.

I took a deep breath to steady my internal screams of panic and looked away from him to find something to focus on in the window. “I hated you,” I finally whispered, not daring to look his way. “I hated almost, if not everything, about you.” My mouth will get me killed one day, I swear.

When he didn’t say anything, I continued. “I worked so hard to get to where I am, you have no idea. I overcame every single obstacle thrown at me, I worked various amounts of jobs until I could barely hold myself up just to pay to be here. And then you showed up

“And at first, I truly believed that you only got here because of connections, power and the immense wealth.” He snorted. “But then you turned out to actually be smart and it seemed so exuberantly easy for you. I mean, you don’t even bring a notebook to class, or a pen for fuck’s sake,” I laughed, though it lacked humour behind it. I could feel tears pricking my eyes but I blinked them away. I have not cried in front of anyone for years and I refuse to let him see me this way. 

The silence stretched. I focused all of my attention on my breath and the distance tick-tock of the clock, throwing a glance across the room avoiding looking in his direction.

“You can’t hate something you don’t understand or know,” he stated. “Just like you can’t love something you don’t fully understand or know. You can only hate or love the idea you have formed entirely by yourself. ”

I heard him shuffle around, the zip of a bag made my head snap up. I followed his movements as he hoisted himself up from the love seat, slung the backpack across his shoulders, propped himself on his crutches and began to make his way out.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, warmth spreading to my cheeks as the wright of the situation hit me. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

He stopped in his tracks, right before reaching the door. “I don’t get offended,” he said, turning his head to look at me. “But I also won’t be in the presence of someone who seems to hate me without knowing anything about me for longer than I have to.” With that, the door shut closed and he was gone in the blink of an eye.

I sat there for a while, staring at the door, wondering what the fuck just happened and how I managed to have gone from a surprisingly pleasant conversation to none at all.

*********

“You can’t possibly be serious!”

I exhaled loudly, kicking at the stones on the road. I was betting that to others I looked like a child. I also felt like a child. “I am.”

“So, let me get this straight, you were in your dorm room, with none other than Ivar bloody Lothbrok, the hottie rich boy, and you flat out called him an entitled prick?”

“Well, of course not,” I hissed. “I just said I hated him and listed reasons that sounded both like compliments and insults all at the same time.”

Pause. “Wait, hated as in past tense?”

Of course, my cousin would get hung up on tenses. But then, I contemplated my choice of words in both instances for a second. I didn’t hate him anymore. He wasn’t as bad as my own jealousy and spitefulness painted him out to be. I didn’t like him, and I sure as hell would never hang out with him outside of it being anything but necessary, however, I didn’t hate him. “He’s not that bad.”

“Well, fuck me sideways,” she chortled. “Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“Nothing is happening, so don’t jump to any conclusions,” I warned. “All right, buttercup, I gotta go see if he’s meeting me at the library tonight.”

“Okay, chick. If you hate shag I want all the details!” she said, just before ending the call.

“Fucking Lisa,” I muttered, before sliding the phone into the back pocket of my jeans. The air started to get chilly in the afternoons lately and I missed the warmth of the sun rays kissing my skin, although I couldn’t wait for autumn either.

I sat on the nearest bench and tried to think of what I could possibly say if he was there. In my head, I had approximately six different speeches and a scenario for each one of them. Needless to say, none of them ended well at all, but I also understand I have to grit my teeth and face whatever awaits me.

The library swarmed with people tonight. Students of all kinds and ages immersed themselves in books, their noses stuck to the screens of their laptops or iPads, some taking notes. I glanced around the room, occasionally standing on my tiptoes to try to see further around but he was nowhere to be found.

I walked around the library a couple of times until I finally settled on a free table by the entrance. I felt a tinge of disappointment and anger form in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t know if he was coming or not, after our conversation, but I still hoped he would put his personal feelings aside for the sake of this project. After all, this one is one of the many and we will have to complete them all together, whether either of us liked it or not.

I checked my watch and realized I have been waiting for a good forty-five minutes, before finally giving up and sulking back to my dorm. My emotions switched between anger and disappointment, though they weren’t aimed at him but rather myself.

That night I dreamed of blue eyes. They were oceanic orbs, pulling me in until I was so deep in my lungs hurt from the crave of a wisp of fresh air. His voice was a low melody, lulling me to let go and give in to the pull. Once I was on the ocean floor, a storm began to brew and his anger flared the lightning bolts up above. I was paralyzed into place as he made me watch the destruction happening around. All I could do is wait.


End file.
